The tunnels finally vomited them into open air.
Fred stumbled out first, the cold wind slapping his sweat-slicked face.
They were in an abandoned part of the city — somewhere even the streetlights dared not shine.
Dilapidated buildings leaned like drunkards against one another.
Windows stared like empty sockets.
Subject 0 emerged next, carrying Mira who barely clung to consciousness.
Above them, the sky had turned a sickly shade of crimson.
A red moon hung heavy, bleeding light across the silent streets.
Fred's mark burned under his shirt, pulsing with each beat of the moon's silent scream.
They were not free yet.
They had only entered a new kind of hell.
---
No cars.
No footsteps.
No life.
Just endless rows of forgotten streets.
Fred's instincts screamed that they were being watched.
He caught glimpses of figures — just out of the corner of his eye.
Children.
Some still clutching broken dolls.
Some dragging sticks along the cracked pavement.
None of them made a sound.
Mira stirred, whispering hoarsely, "The Silent City... they say it's where lost children go..."
Fred's throat tightened.
The Silent City wasn't a myth.
It was real.
And now they were trapped inside it.
---
A flicker of movement.
Fred turned sharply.
A man stepped into view from a side alley.
He was dressed immaculately in a white suit.
Too clean.
Too perfect.
His hair was slicked back, his shoes gleaming.
And his eyes...
They smiled.
But his mouth did not.
Not even a twitch.
He clapped slowly, the sound oddly muffled, like hands slapping wet meat.
"Bravo," he said in a voice too smooth, too empty. "You survived the Web's first kiss."
Fred gripped his blade tighter.
Subject 0 shifted defensively, positioning Mira behind them.
The man continued, tilting his head curiously.
"You carry the mark," he said, his voice dropping into a whisper that somehow reached Fred's ears perfectly. "The blood remembers you. The walls dream of you. The ground whispers your name."
Fred didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He waited.
Watched.
The man smiled wider — only with his eyes.
"You have two choices," he said. "Follow me... or rot here like all the others."
Behind him, the silent children began to gather.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Filling the streets.
Watching.
Waiting.
Fred's heart pounded.
He didn't trust the man.
Every instinct screamed trap.
But he knew staying here would be worse.
Far worse.
He took a deep breath.
And nodded.
"Lead the way," Fred said.
The man's eyes gleamed with a sick satisfaction.
And he turned, walking deeper into the Silent City.
---
They followed.
Every step, Fred felt the city leaning closer.
Listening.
Measuring.
Judging.
The man spoke without turning his head.
"You have no idea what you're truly part of, boy."
Fred stayed silent.
The man chuckled softly.
"A rebellion is coming," he said. "Not against kings. Not against tyrants."
He paused.
Turned his head slightly, just enough for Fred to see the empty blackness pooling in his smiling eyes.
"But against memory itself."
Fred didn't flinch.
He was done flinching.
Whatever lay ahead, he would face it.
With blade in hand.
With blood singing in his veins.
Because the past could haunt him.
But it would never own him again.
Not without a fight.
Not without burning everything to ash first.
---